Bloody Nails

MIA

THERE’S CAKED BLOOD underneath my fingernails again, complete with a thin slice of skin and hair. Only this time, I’m not grossed out by it. I know HE will handle the rest with almost artistic dedication and precision. This will be the fourth woman this year, and I couldn’t be happier about the, ahem, “sudden” downfall of the Huxleys, a family known to be perpetually knees-deep in drug debt and silly decisions. It had been almost too easy to hunt them down one by one, leaving just enough credible evidence to fool the cops and media. A suicide note followed by a mobile phone dumped off a bridge. An Instagram post with the sorry victim posed on the bathroom floor, surrounded by pill bottles.

When I snatched Cindy Huxley, it wasn’t a stretch to make it look like someone forcefully entered the home at night and dragged her out kicking and screaming, because that’s what I did. With the rest of Cindy’s family dead, there was no one left to hear the commotion.

Now, I drive an unconscious Cindy Huxley out into the thick forest, turning off the country road when I see the small trail that leads to the cabin where HE waits—he who will pay extremely well for this female. As I pull up and kill the engine, I see him.

He exits the cabin, all six-feet-five of him, with broad shoulders and muscles thicker than my thighs—and I’m not exactly skinny. I have never seen his face. As always, it is covered with a black mask, a neon-blue X glowing over each eye hole. He wears black cargo pants and a black shirt. Gliding to my door, he opens it and offers me his hand. I take it and step effortlessly out of the vehicle. He shuts the door behind me and strokes a gloved hand against my cheek.

“Show me,” he asks in a voice both stern and soft.

I nod and use my fob to pop the trunk. We hear a soft cry and follow the sound to the rear of the vehicle. There, tucked in the trunk, is a semi-awake Cindy, wrists bound together with duct tape. Blood from the blow to her head splashes across her oversized nightgown like spilt paint. Seeing us, she moans and her eyes widen.

“Good,” he says, resting a big hand on my head. I swell with pride.

“Thank you,” I whisper, and my gaze flicks between him and Cindy.

He places a finger under my chin and tilts my face upward. “This time,” he says, his voice almost a purr, “I would like you to help me more. Do you think you can do that?”

I jolt back to myself at this, and my skin runs cold. I shake my head in a violent no. Helping more hadn’t been part of the deal. This is business. I bring him these women and leave fifty grand richer. That is all it was ever meant to be. I try to inhale, but the little air I take in freezes in my body. A sickly feeling twists in my gut.

He lowers himself so he is eye level with me, and I do everything I can to avoid looking into those glowing X’s. “Mia,” he says. “I kill women for pleasure, and I’d love nothing more than to hunt you down and do the same to you. But you’re invaluable to me. If you leave now, I’ll have no choice but to conclude that the hunt is on. And I will find you.”

GRIMMER

Despite everything, Mia is loyal to me. And I must admit, seeing her curvy body caked in another woman’s blood is making me pitch a tent. She has never failed to deliver my desired women and cover their disappearances. In return, I pay her well.

Even if she isn’t going to live long enough to spend it.

I see that my question about helping me more made her panic, and I can’t blame her. But I just need to see her at work.

Motivated by my minor threat, Mia agrees, and I fetch Cindy from the boot of her car. I close the trunk, and thankfully I don’t hear the driver’s door open and shut, which means Mia plans to follow me like a good little girl. I carry Cindy into the cabin and down a set of steps into the basement, where I lay her on a gleaming metal table. I look up to see Mia staring at my Kill Room.

I envy Mia, seeing my lair for the first time. It is a magnificent sight: walls covered with tools, toys and equipment, saws, dildos, chains, sounding rods, whips, spread bars, and car batteries. Like the treasures of a museum, everything is on display.

Mia takes the last step, eyes like saucers, mouth agape. I can smell her acidic fear, which only fuels the fire inside me. I will take great joy in first corrupting her and then killing her. I secure Cindy to the table by her wrists and ankles. And then, leaning over her I glance back to Mia, grinning under my mask.

“I want you to remove her eyes,” I say softly and put my upper body weight into Cindy’s middle, holding her steady.

“Her … eyes?” Mia repeats in a shaking whisper.

“Did I fucking stutter, Mia?” I raise my voice enough to make her flinch.

She shakes her head and steps forward, scanning my walls.

“No, you may not touch any of my equipment. It is sacred to me,” I mutter and grin when the understanding strikes her.

Mia swallows so hard I can hear it in the quiet room. And as she looms over Cindy I watch with growing excitement. Her sharp, fake nails are at the ready.

MIA

I’ve bit off more than I can chew here. I shouldn’t be here, seeing things I am never supposed to see. I lower my trembling, ice-cold hands to Cindy’s face. He wants me to remove her eyes, and I am not in a position to argue. I take a breath, and with one hand, I open her left eyelid and gaze into a blue eye blazing with terror. Feeling about to throw up, I swallow it down and push into the corner of Cindy’s eye socket, following the curvature. She writhes at the fresh pain and begins to beg. Dislodging the eyeball is tougher than I think and I have to push hard into her socket. When her eye pops free she lets out a piercing scream, her thrashing body twisting and arching under his.

One down, one to go.

I deposit the slimy eyeball onto the table and repeat the process. The second eyeball pops out easier and lands in my palm with a wet squelch. I put it beside the other and look at him.

He grabs my hand and slides it under his mask, taking my fingers, coated with blood, skin, and eyeball juice into his mouth. After sucking my hand clean, he draws it roughly to his crotch, and I flinch at the hardness there. A moan involuntarily escapes my lips. He is throbbing, and I know what I need to do.

I need to help him kill these women before I kill him.

GRIMMER

Her moan is music to my ears. I need to hear more of them. Cindy goes on screeching and screaming, so I reach for a hunting knife and lash it across her neck. Watching the fountain of hot blood spray against Mia. God damn.

Mia, the good girl, doesn’t flinch or scream. She reaches up to her breasts and rubs the fleshy mounds until they are wet with crimson. God, I knew it. She’s like me. I grab Mia and lift her onto the table. Sandwiching my hips between hers, I lay her back against Cindy's gurgling, dying body. Mia scoops up handfuls of blood and offers it to me. I rip off my mask and throw it to the floor. It is no longer necessary to hide my face from her.

I lap the coppery blood from her hands and rip her trousers from her body, scooping up more blood and letting it drip down onto her cute little pussy. I line myself up against her and push inside using Cindy’s cooling blood as lube. My bloody hand finds Mia’s throat, and I squeeze just enough to cut off her oxygen. I want her to enjoy this, as a thank you for helping me fulfill my fantasy.

MIA

There’s blood under my nails again. But this time, it’s his.